One Wish for Christmas
by Lexie-H
Summary: Everyone is entitled to their one wish for Christmas. A collection of stories for my friends. RR please! Merry Christmas everyone!
1. To Heal a Broken Heart

**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to JK Rowling. I just play with her ideas!**

**Note: This is a collection of presents for my wonderful friends. I wish you all the best for Christmas, and that your holiday is filled with laughter and happiness. And, naturally, I'd love to hear what you think! - Lexie xx  
**

_**James and Lily, for Cuba**_

* * *

**To Heal A Broken Heart...**  


The brittle green foliage stung at her palms, but Lily Evans didn't care. She gripped the offensive holiday gesture firmly with two hands and tugged with all her might, tearing it from the air with a small grunt of effort.

Levitate _that_, Potter.

He blinked, taken aback, and if Lily didn't know any better, she'd have thought he was hurt. Fortunately, Lily _did_ know better: she knew that an arrogant toe rag like Potter didn't have the capacity within him to _feel_ hurt, which at least was one less thing to worry about.  
"Was that really necessary, Evans?" he asked quietly.  
Lucky the common room was silent, or she would have missed his words altogether. Lily scowled at him. Surely, the answer was obvious.  
"It's always necessary, _Potter_," she hissed back.  
Subconsciously, her eyes scanned his for that familiar spark of fire, but this time, something was missing, and instead the hazel simply smouldered.  
The common room held its breath: was this the beginning of another, legendary Evans-Potter argument?  
As if in response, James Potter shook his head. But then-  
"Evans, for Merlin's sake – if I can have one wish this Christmas, I wish you'd _grow a heart_."

Lily's ears roared. All she could see was red. Perhaps, it was the red of the Gryffindor scarf Sirius was now dangling before her eyes in jest. More preferable to her imagination, it was Potter's blood.  
Her mouth opened and closed several times, mute as a goldfish in her anger.  
"You _did not_ say that."  
Potter's jaw jutted out in arrogance, as if daring her to contradict him further. How dare he suggest she didn't have feelings? Of course she did! And for that matter, she knew she felt a damn sight well more than _he_ did. If that boy had one sympathetic bone in his body, he'd have left her alone like she'd asked him too, two years earlier.  
Without realizing it, she drew her wand. Red sparks were emitting from its end, preemptively as it were.  
"_Vischioatta!_"

James Potter ducked as hundreds of tiny little pinpricks – the leaves of the mistletoe plant he'd raised above Lily's head only moments before – sped toward his face. Unfortunately for him, Lily's aim was true.  
She smiled, satisfied, as they bit onto his skin. Potter raised his head – his glasses had protected his eyes – to meet her gaze, hard and emotionless.  
Lily raised her wand again – and a hand caught her arm. She spun, surprised, to find Remus Lupin staring at her, face white with shock.  
"Lily, what are you doing?"  
He looked, quite frankly, alarmed. Lily shook her head absently. Now was clearly not the time, not when she was exacting revenge on the boy who'd bullied and teased her mercilessly for the past five years.  
But unlike him, she would be merciful. She shook her wrist free from Remus' hold and uttered the counter-curse.

Potter dabbed at his face gingerly, taken aback with surprise when he saw the tiny spots of blood on his fingers. Lily had to hand it to him – he hadn't cried out in pain.  
_At least, I suppose, he can take it as well as he can give_, she thought bitterly. She crouched, face level now with his.

"Potter, if I can have one wish this Christmas, I wish that you'd _leave me alone_."

The crowd missed this final exchange of un-pleasantries: they had hastily backed away the moment Lily had uttered the first spell.  
Now, Lily stood and turned heel, hurrying back up the stairs to the Sixth Year Girl's dormitory. She slammed the door, hurling herself against the soft, forgiving material of her bed. Opening her eyes, she winced, immediately closing them again: the bedding was as dark as the blood glistening across Potter's face in her mind's eye.  
Feeling as though she was going to be physically sick, Lily at once lifted herself from the bed, propelling her body toward the bathroom.

She didn't know how long she'd sat on the stone cold floor, gasping and heaving. Tears splashed down her face in messy torrents, drenching her cheeks and dampening the hair that had plastered itself to her skin.  
She hadn't even realized she was crying.

Someone was knocking at the door. It was a soft, steady, consistent tap, and Lily waited, gulping air in silence, but who-ever it was did not seem ready to give up.  
Lily's stomach seemed to have settled, now. Gingerly, she raised herself to the vanity, ducking her head into the basin as she trickled water down her face. The towel, fluffy and soft to her eyes, felt like hundreds of tiny pin pricks in her flesh as she dried herself hastily, shuddering slightly.  
She hadn't expected so much blood – but what scared her more than anything was the degree of satisfaction she _still felt_. What had this boy driven her to?  
The tapping persisted, but there was no-one at the door.  
Lily closed it, puzzled, leaning her forehead against the thick, hard wood. Was she hearing things, or…?  
No – there it was at the window; an owl, requesting admission.  
Lily sighed. So, perhaps not as crazy as she'd feared, then. She opened the window; the owl proffered a leg, and then, relieved of it's burden, flew away.  
Lily unfolded the message with a frown. A scrap of parchment, severed in the shape of a ragged heart.

Six simple words.

_I forgive you.  
_

_Merry Christmas, Evans._

Lily sunk onto her bed, watching the fabric, the colour of Potter's blood - the same blood that coursed through his heart – mould around her legs. She sat quietly, hands shaking ever so slightly, holding the little paper heart. Outside, the sun sank beneath the rolling hills, and her dorm fell into darkness.  
Hands still shaking, Lily adjusted them gently. The message echoed in her thoughts; she summoned all the will she possessed and tugged.  
The tear sounded in the silent dorm like a heavy rumble of thunder. Lily gazed hopelessly at the two scraps in her hands, the broken heart.  
That beastly satisfaction swelled once more, and without another thought, Lily moved once more to the window, flinging Potter's heart out into the night. She watched as the pieces fluttered to the ground, scattering amongst the grass, surrendered to the elements. Free.

Lily closed her eyes, fists balled, wishing with all her might that just maybe, this Christmas, she could free Potter of her, once and for all. Because he needed it, poor boy. Freedom, that was; certainly, not _her_.  
The satisfied beast wondered why she cared about him, so suddenly.  
Lily returned to her bed, lying herself down carefully, head sinking thoughtfully into the pillow as she wondered the same thing.  
Why _did_ she care about him? _For_ him?  
She bit back a scowl as the image of the smirk that would undoubtedly adorn his smug face at this piece of news flickered in her imagination.  
What was wrong with her?

Lily Evans had more of a heart than James Potter could ever comprehend. She hoped he was happy.  
"_Merry Christmas, Potter_."


	2. A Different Sort of Courage

**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to JK Rowling. I just play with her ideas!**

**_Regulus, for Frayed  
_**

* * *

**A Different Sort of Courage**

The way Sirius had always seen it, he'd had two choices: fight, or leave.  
"Come with me, little brother," he'd whispered, a black silhouette in the doorway of Regulus' bedroom at some ungodly hour, illuminated by the brilliant light of his own room.  
Regulus, however, saw the third choice.  
He'd always seen the third choice, even when they were small and Regulus had served as the diplomat between his brother and parents. Regulus saw that he could stay, and make the best of a bad situation.  
What it really boiled down to was that he didn't have the courage to simply leave. However much he strained beneath the weight of the Black Family Expectations, Regulus knew that ultimately, he loved his family too much to break their hearts.  
Sirius loved his family. No one ever accused him of anything other. But the love that he had for them was the poisonous sort, and it drained him, and it was his final act of love to escape.

Regulus always wondered what his final act of love to his bittersweet family would be.

Of course, Sirius would call staying the easy option. But it wasn't: not by any measure that Regulus could discover. It would have been easy, too easy, to run away with Sirius and forget about everything. No, Regulus knows that he has taken the harder road to stay, to cope, to preserve the Black Family honour. His parents wouldn't bear losing another son.  
The Black Family tapestry, _toujours pur_, fraying at the edges of the burn hole that was Sirius.  
The Black Family, fraying at the edges.  
And all Regulus can do is sit and watch it, and wait for his brother to come home. His one wish for Christmas.

Regulus's seat is empty at Christmas dinner. Instead, he has been elevated to Sirius's old seat, the customary position of the oldest son.  
It is only now that he accepts Sirius isn't coming back – that his one wish for Christmas is impossible. He's spent the first half of his fifth year at Hogwarts being shunned by his older brother, who now, despite the contradiction of their obvious resemblance, pretends they aren't related.

Regulus now takes up the mantle of the oldest son, and somehow, he knows he can't possibly live up to their expectations. Fifteen is old enough to drink, his father announces gruffly, and Regulus finds a glass of fire whiskey placed in front of him.  
He eyes it cautiously. A sniff confirms his suspicions as his nostril hairs are singed. He downs it in a gulp, gasping as the liquid leaves a swirling path of fire down his throat. But after it has passed, throat tingling and eyes burning, Regulus feels oddly satisfied, and he thinks that maybe he understands why Sirius liked the stuff so much, after all.

He doesn't care what they think, either.

_He never has_, the alcoholic bravado boasting beast inside him roars.  
Except Regulus knows the truth. The truth is, he always has cared. And he always will. Not like Sirius. Regulus knows he doesn't have anything to prove. Or rather, nothing to prove to anyone who isn't his brother.  
Upstairs, in the parlour, the burn hole that used to be his brother is fraying at the edges.  
And Regulus suddenly stops wishing his brother would come home.

"And this one's for you, my darling. And that, too."  
Regulus eyes the two largest boxes beneath the Christmas tree apprehensively. Once, there would have been one for each of them; now, he receives all the glory to himself.  
His parents smile encouragingly, the curves of their lips unable to mask the coldness in their eyes.  
Sirius could never get past that, their inability to smile with their eyes. Not like the Potters, Sirius had boasted. Mrs. Potter can make _her_ eyes laugh!  
But Regulus has always seen what his brother missed: that their coldness masks their loneliness and their longings and their pain.  
Sirius the Single-minded only sees what he wants to.

Kreacher stumbles forward and hands Regulus the first box, bowing tenderly. Regulus smiles dismissively, wondering whether Kreacher enjoyed the blanket Regulus had left in his bed.  
The first box contains a Slytherin crest, magnificent in silver and emerald satin and dripping tiny points of colour: emeralds and diamonds glittering at the eyes and claws of the serpent.  
The effect is breathtaking, and Regulus turns to his father, eyes wide, mask momentarily forgotten. Orion chuckles: it is forced, and sounds somewhat like he's choking.  
"We had a little more to spend on you this year, son."  
Regulus's smile droops, and he nods, just once, closing his eyes.  
Damn Sirius – his presence, his bitterness, lingers still, long after his escape, and Regulus can't quite forgive him for that.

It is dark, now. Threads gleam in the flickering light of his candle, millions of them, encircling him, entwining around him, tighter and tighter until he can't breath.  
Regulus' gasp shatters the silence, and the threads drop away, dull and lifeless, pooling around his feet.  
His parents and Kreacher are asleep. Christmas is finished for another year, for them. Not for Regulus. Not yet, anyway.  
Regulus leans his head against the tapestry, his breath slow and steady.  
It's ridiculous, he thinks, that this moldy old thing is the closest tie he can keep to his brother, now.  
The edges are fraying around the burn hole that was once Sirius' name, and Regulus brushes the threads with gentle fingers. He pulls away, surprised. They are softer he suspected, frailer. Comparatively, the weave that forms his own name is strong, unswayable.

He'll never forgive his brother for taking the easy way out, but he'll always admire him for it.

The spell leaves his lips before he even realized the wand in his hand.  
The frayed edges are firmer now, stronger, hardened. The tapestry won't disintegrate any further now.  
The Black Family,_ toujours pur_.  
Always pure. Always strong.

Regulus runs his fingers across the thickened burn hole and smiles. One last wish, then, and he'll go to bed.  
"Merry Christmas, Sirius."

* * *

**Note****: I hope you all enjoy this, and I'd love (as always) to hear your thoughts. Thank you very much for reading, and now... Why not share some Christmas cheer and leave a review?**

**Lexie**

**P.S. - Just as a random aside, this little idea of stories for everyone for Christmas started on LiveJournal, but I'd like to extend the invitation to all of my other friends and regular reviewers - if you'd like to make a request for a story, please do so! (I'll try and get them all done in time, and even if I don't, it's not like the story is going anywhere after the Festive Season is finished!) **


	3. Carpé Diem

**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to JK Rowling. I just play with her ideas!**

**_Ron, for Witblogi_ **

* * *

**Carpé Diem**

The radio babbled faintly in the background of his thoughts, but Ronald Weasley wasn't paying it any particular attention. According to the clock on his brother's dresser, the hour was early, too early for anyone with any sense to be awake – but then, Ron didn't counted himself as one of _those_ people anyway.

He felt so overwhelmingly alone, and just a little empty.

Actually, he was lying. Ron had never felt so empty before in his life, and he was pretty sure that if he didn't so something soon, that emptiness would consume him so completely that he'd cease to exist altogether.

For someone who had the emotional range of a teaspoon, Ron suspected he was outdoing himself. He could only imagine the surprise on Hermione's face, and the thinly veiled amusement on Harry's, if they knew what he was thinking right now.

If Ron Weasley could have one wish for Christmas, he wanted to spend it with Harry, to kiss Hermione under the mistletoe, to forget everything else existed.

_Harry would look up with surprise to the mouth of the tent, as Ron strolled in, arms laden with gifts, and while Hermione might shoot those blasted canaries at him again, everything would be quickly forgotten…_

"We didn't know what to do without you, Ron…" 

Ron smiled dreamily at Hermione's hypothetical confession, her voice echoing around and around in his thoughts like some tantalizing trap, and Ron realized that once again, his memory was playing tricks with him, because there was no way that he would be welcomed back, not now.

And still…

Her voice played with his thoughts, but this time, she wasn't making any sense…

"Remember… Remember Ron? When he broke his wand, crashing the car? It was never the same again, he had to get a new one."

Oh, Ron remembered that only too well. He could feel the embarrassment rising to his cheeks once more, the Curse of the Red-heads, as his mother had put it cheerfully, once, and he recalled the absolute dread that had thrilled his thoughts, knowing all the time he would probably be expelled, Harry and him both, but why was Hermione talking about it, why did she always have to be the keeper of his worst memories, why couldn't he remember the time he sacrificed himself on the giant chessboard, or the way he had cleared the rocks for Harry after the cave-in in the Chamber of Secrets?

Ron's eyes snapped open, and startled, he realized that this time, the voice wasn't sounding from this thoughts and memories at all, and instead…

Hermione's voice, and now Harry's, were speaking, calling to him (but not really)….

_From Ron's pocket._

Wide eyed and fumbling, Ron's hands shook as carefully, very carefully, he inserted his finger, almost expecting to find a miniature Harry and Hermione clambering on to peer up at him…

Instead, he produced the Deluminator.

All was silent now, and yet for some reason, Ron had no doubt at all that this _thing_, this canny little creation of Dumbledore's, had allowed him to hear his friends.

Which was very strange indeed.

Out of habit, Ron flicked the catch, and a little ball of light soared from the lamp beside his bed…

But this time, it didn't disappear completely. In fact, it hung before him, growing, larger and rounder, and brighter, and all of a sudden, it changed to a shocking, pixie coloured blue.

Ron gazed at it, mystified.

"All right, Dumbledore," he murmured to himself, the irony making him smile ruefully. "I have a ball of blue light. And _what_ do I do with it, do you think?"

To his great surprise, the ball of light seemed to wink at him, and for a sudden, startling moment, it seemed to be Dumbledore's eye (for the colour was very alike), and Ron started to his feet in shock as it drifted toward, and then out, of his open window.

Ron watched it float away, moaning, scrambling, hanging over the windowsill, leaning, leaning, if he could only grasp –

"Wait, please wait!"

The shining ball of light seemed to hear him, then, because it spun, as though to regard him, before slowly drifting towards the ground. Ron watched with an enchanted sort of relief as it seemed to settle itself in the air over Bill and Fleur's lawn.

Somehow, inexplicably (but probably because the experience had Dumbledore written all over it, right down to the knowing twinkle in his eyes -) Ron knew that the great big blue orb would guide him to Harry and Hermione, and just maybe, this was the chance he needed to make everything right again.

Without another thought, he scooped up the rucksack that had lain, waiting, by his door for a week now, and scurried down the stairs, pausing only to scribble a message to his brother.

And then, there he was in the garden, walking toward the glowing ball of light, fingers crossed in his pocket against the expectation the ball would float off again –

But instead, it did something else quite unexpected.

It moved towards him, and before Ron could even consider running, the ball overtook him, and he was blinded by its brilliance, and he could feel the magic coursing through his body, and he hoped to hell that he'd survive, but it didn't seem to hurt, which could only be a good thing, and…

Then, the ball appeared to shrink, until disappeared completely inside of him, and then, miraculously, there the knowledge sat, and he knew it all, everything, exactly how to find them (although not quite what to say when he did) and without thinking of and dreading their reunion for another moment, without even considering the dreaded splinching that had already cost him two fingernails – he Apparrated.

If Christmas wasn't the time for apologies and making things right, Ron didn't know when was.

* * *

**Note: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, it means a lot, and you have been absolutely instrumental in getting me into the festive spirit (and encouraging me to write more)!! I hope you've enjoyed this installment - I can't say I've written Ron in great depth before, so constructive criticism will always be especially appreciated, and as per usual, I'd love to hear your thoughts. **

**Most importantly, I wish you all a safe and happy holiday!  
Lexie **


	4. Consequences

**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to JK Rowling. I just play with her ideas!**

**_Gellert, for something-like-love_ **

* * *

**Consequences**

Gellert Grindelwald isn't the festive sort. Not really.

But the snowflakes are twirling gracefully past his window, and he can't help but find himself enchanted as they settle to the ground, joining the already substantial carpet of snow that flows across the earth, blending houses and trees and meadows and animals and _people_ indiscriminately with one another.

(magical and non-magical, it doesn't matter to snow)

There's always been something captivating about snow, something he can't quite explain.

And this, particularly: if he squints a little, nose pressed against the grimy window, he can imagine himself back in Godric's Hollow, and that the snow lies over the tumble of houses there, and that the children throwing snowballs at each other (but with a flick of their wands) are Albus and himself, and that the little girl perched on the doorstep watching them is Ariana

(but her hair was blonde, not brown)

And then, he imagines that he is actually Aberforth and not Gellert, and he is standing in the Dumbledores' home, nose pressed against the frosted glass, eyes narrowed at the friendship he doesn't approve of.

Gellert knows very well that he tried to turn Albus into something he wasn't

(because Albus cares too much about people)

and that he very nearly succeeded.

But that only became apparent so many years later, and in Gellert's arrogance he'd never supposed that Albus would come and 'put an end to all this nonsense, Gellert', sounding like a tired parent chastising their misbehaving child.

(so different to the time when Albus had been his partner in crime, his best friend in the entire world)

Someone else, a parent, stands in the doorway of the-little-house-that-isn't-in-Godric's-Hollow and calls to the children, and they hurry inside, casting a fearful glance up at the tower prison, even though he knows it is quite invisible to them.

(perhaps he imagined it?)

And then it occurs to him that they were probably glancing, instead, at the sky, as if fearful they would see der Weihnachtsmann fly by on his sleigh, refusing to stop for misbehaving children.

More Muggle nonsense, but Gellert wonders, just briefly -

if he had have used der Weihnachtsmann as the driving force behind his campaign… would they have heeded him, then?

(for to Gellert's mind, all Muggles are like gullible children,

and all children believe in der Weihnachtsmann)

He thinks that Albus would laugh at the absurdity of his idea, now, and refuse to meet his eyes, because he is very disappointed, so disappointed, and _how could he_?

Albus hadn't wanted to face him, not after Ariana. Gellert knew that well.

(why else had he hesitated for so long, why hadn't he stopped him sooner? )

He also knew that it was not only anger but guilt which plagued his friend, because even now, he could not say, and he knew Albus could not say, who's curse killed her.

(but it was certainly not Aberforth's, as he wasn't anywhere near powerful enough)

And then, after Ariana, to have more innocent people die was too much for Albus. Of course, it was he who labeled them innocents, not Gellert, because Gellert knew they were persecutors, and that the persecuted had got their own back, now, but of course, Albus wouldn't listen to all that, because he was a champion of the stupidity of Muggles, and Gellert knew better than to argue with him, now…

(he'd always known, deep down, that Albus was stronger, but his pride had never compelled him to admit it, before)

Gellert Grindelwald has many reasons, excuses, for why he isn't the festive sort. But perhaps, most importantly, it is because Albus _is_, and Gellert makes a conscious effort to avoid their commonalities now, because it all comes down to knowing that Albus is a better man, and a better wizard, than Gellert will ever be. He'd always known, always understood, the concept of consequences...

If Gellert could have one wish, not that he believes in such things...

(if only he had listened to Albus' misgivings in the beginning)

(if only he hadn't tried to talk him around)

(if only he hadn't succeeded – )

(because then, he'd never have gone through with it, later, if Albus had not approved,

and Gellert conveniently forgot that once,

a very long time ago, Albus _hadn't_ approved at all…)

Perhaps things would have been so very different, if Albus had been the more persuasive of the two, and then, Gellert acknowledges with not a small touch of irony….

_ then, _Gellert would be allowed to feel festive, now.

* * *

**For anyone who was considering asking, I shall pre-empt your question with this: _der Weihnachtsmann_**** means Santa Claus in German.  
**

**Note: Apparently I'm having a productive day... a double post and all? Anyway, just like Ron, I haven't really gone into much depth with Grindelwald before, so constructive criticism will be deeply appreciated, and thank you very much for reading, and I do hope you enjoyed it! **


	5. The Last Christmas

**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to JK Rowling. I just play with her ideas!**

**_Sirius, for Gaby-Black_**

* * *

**The Last Christmas**

This was it: to his mind, this was the last Christmas, and there had been none before like it, and there would be none after to match it.

It was, Sirius supposed, the first time he had really been around a small child; but all of a sudden, with the addition of baby Harry, Christmas took on a whole new meaning, and it became not a night of drunken carols but a source of warmth and laughter and pure delight. Even Remus, tired and worn, could not resist a chuckle as Harry rolled, with a burble of joy, through the brightly coloured wrapping paper (because who cared about the toys, really, when the packaging itself was so fun?).

Peter and James propelled his godson between them, laughing merrily, and soon, the little boy had disappeared beneath his cocoon of festive paper.

Lily leant in the doorway, tucked into a lovely thick sweater, and its colour seemed to make the tendrils of hair creeping across her shoulders glow. For a fleeting moment, Sirius remembers imagining that he, instead of James, might be the one to stand and kiss her; but then, instead, that he remembered this was James' life, this life that they all wanted, and that kissing Lily would have simply opened a whole new can of worms to trouble the new year with; and then, Sirius remembers deciding that he didn't even _want_ to kiss Lily, that he just wanted someone _like_ Lily to share _his_ Christmas with.

Maybe, one day, it will be his child, rolling around in the wrapping paper.

If Sirius can have one wish for Christmas, he'd wish for a family to call his very own, again. He'd wish they hadn't died, that Peter hadn't betrayed them all; that Remus hadn't been left alone.

He'd wish that time had frozen, that Christmas, and that he could spent the rest of his years carving that turkey with James, and piling food onto Remus' plate, and helping Lily to feed Harry a little of the apple sauce, and bursting a Christmas cracker with Peter.

Because, that last Christmas, nothing else mattered in all of the world but that he spent it with those five people he loved most in the world.

Because after all, if that wasn't the point of Christmas, Sirius didn't know what was.

* * *

**Note: I thought this little idea leant itself quite nicely to a Sirius ficlet. Thank you everyone so much for taking the time to read (and review), you've really done a fantastic job at spreading the festive cheer. I hope you enjoyed this, and as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Happy holidays!**


	6. Comfort

**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to JK Rowling. I just play with her ideas!**

**_Ginny, for xRosePetalx_**

* * *

**Comfort**

If anyone knows what it feels like to be left behind, it's Ginny Weasley.

She'll never quite forgive him for it. That's what she tells herself, anyway – sitting on the back stairs, gazing at the starlit night, and wondering whether he's doing the same.

Christmas is a time to be with those one loves, and amongst her family, Ginny is content but for the three empty seats that broadcast Ron, Harry and Hermione's absence.

Sometimes, Ginny thinks she's an expert at being left behind. One by one (and once, two by two), all her brothers disappeared to Hogwarts and left her behind in the world of childhood, until finally, Ron left too (and made friends with _Harry Potter_, of all people!) and she found herself at home with her parents, alone, because although Bill and Charlie had already graduated, they were working abroad, and there she was, the little child, the only girl, and the only Weasley without a wand, and she'd never felt so alone in all of her life.

Of course, Hogwarts was different, and she made friends aplenty when she finally made it there herself (that had been the longest year of her life, that year alone).

It was a few years before Ginny felt like she was being left behind again: but when Harry made those pathetic excuses of his in the name of nobility and_keeping her safe_ and all that other nonsense, Ginny felt herself slipping away again, bit by bit, until the time came when they, all three of them, disappeared completely, she was furious once more, because Hermione was the closest friend she had, and Ron was her brother… and Harry was Harry, and all that entailed – and they had left her behind.

When they all left for their Great Adventure in the middle of Bill and Fleur's ruined wedding (without a word, although she appreciated that perhaps a_goodbye_ would have made the actual leaving close to impossible), Ginny was furious beyond even her ability to summon a good hex in their names.

If Ginny could have one wish for Christmas, it would be to know that they are quite safe.

Because if she loses them – if she loses _him_, Ginny's not quite sure what she'll do. It is bad enough that he's gone and left her behind.

Of course, she will forgive him, and for the matter, she's fairly sure all will be forgotten the moment they see each other again; but the absolute stupidity of his hero complex – that strange, compulsive need of his to be noble – is eating away at the back of her thoughts.

She's beginning to suspect it's contagious.

It's not enough, anymore, to sit at home and wonder where they are. She finds her mind making lists and lists: small rebellions, acts of defiance and all-important contingency plans for Dumbledore's Army, in case It all fails, whatever It may be.

If she can't be on the run with them, then at least she can keep their message of defiance alive within Hogwarts itself. If she has to be left behind, at least she can make herself useful: and in actual fact, when she thinks about it, she's not the only one who's been left behind, because when she returns to school she knows that Neville and Luna and the DA (what's left of them) will still be there, and in a way, Harry, Ron and Hermione have left _them_ behind too.

And as she realizes this, consumed in the absolute cheerfulness of her bedroom with the sunshine dancing through her window and mingling with the reflected glare of the snow; and the posters on her wall smiling encouragingly –

Ginny doesn't feel so alone.

Which is good, she decides, pulling out a piece of parchment and pausing her quill thoughtfully before scratching a careful _N_, because one isn't supposed to feel alone at Christmastime.

* * *

**Note: These next few are obviously posthumous to Christmas, but rest assured I haven't finished quite yet. Hope everyone had a wonderful day(s) of celebration! What did you think of this? (I was a bit stuck with how to write Ginny in this, so I hope you all like it!) **

**Lexie **


	7. The Forgotten Christmases

**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to JK Rowling. I just play with her ideas!**

**_Remus, for Lady Bracknell  
_**

* * *

**The Forgotten Christmases**

If Remus Lupin were a Muggle, he's pretty sure he'd be an atheist. Because after the life he's had, the suffering he's gone through, and the losses, the deaths, of almost every living creature he's loved…

He'd be hard put to agree that a God exists.

So thank God he's a wizard.

But, and this is something that Remus struggles to understand, wizards and witches continue to cheerfully persist in their pursuit to celebrate Christmas. Remus supposes this is because (contrary, as far as he is concerned, to popular Muggle belief) Christmas has its roots in Yule. Which is fine, only, he doesn't understand why they can't just celebrate Yule itself, for Merlin's sake.

And for Remus' too.

Because in Remus' opinion, some things are best left forgotten.

Like Christmas.

Because no one is supposed to be alone at Christmas, and every year Remus finds himself inevitably flaunting convention.

His last official Christmas, surrounded by James and Sirius and Peter and Lily and Harry, six months old and already a force to be reckoned with, remains to his mind The Definitive Christmas.

It's been five years since they've all be gone.

That first year, After, Remus bought Harry a Christmas present (a desperate attempt at maintaining some normalcy, even in the depths of his denial) and attempted a visit, but his casual attempt at festivity ended abruptly when Lily's brother-in-law, snarling, blocked his entry and threatened to call the police.

In retrospect, after this incident, Remus decided that it was probably better for his life, Vernon Dursley's blood pressure and little Harry's piece of mind (and relatively poor chance at happiness) if he disappeared from his life altogether. After all, it wasn't like Harry could possibly remember his first, Remus' last, Christmas anyway. He wouldn't miss him.

He's been tempted to try and visit him a few times, but for the fact that as much as he loves Harry, it's not worth placing his life in the hands of two very unpleasant relatives to do so.

(Not when he'd probably only cause the boy pain, anyway.)

So instead, Remus prefers to pass his unfortunate bout of chronic aloneness in complete ignorance every year, which is very difficult as he's the sort of person to check his calendar every morning, if you know what I mean.

And simply removing the numbers that sit beside the progression of tiny moons, 31 in total, every single year just doesn't work as well as he'd like it to.

He supposes spending an entire month every year drinking – his scheduled stupor – is probably a bit unhealthy. After all, even if he is a scarred, starved, scruffy and thoroughly unemployable scrap of humanity, he probably should be making himself useful.

Dumbledore has always said it's only a matter of time before He's back.

So, for the first time in quite a few years, at one point or another in the general vicinity of December, Remus finds himself making a resolution in the name of an occasion he no longer believes in, just because it seems the thing to do.

This year, he'll do something useful. He'll travel. He'll read. He'll learn.

He'll live again.

If Remus Lupin could have one wish for Christmas, he'd forget it even exists – but then again, (just like Christmas) Remus is forced to acknowledge with a rueful sigh that wishing has never been a practical pastime.

* * *

**Note: Yes, I'm well aware that Christmas has been and gone, but I've been on holidays, and this has been sitting in my notepad for some time now, so for the sake of this story, we'll forget about dates. (And sorry for the lateness, LB)  
**

**What did you think? I'm a bit uncertain as to this story (does it hit the mark?) so I'd love to hear your thoughts! **

**Lexie**


End file.
